


the farthest to fall

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Fluff, M/M, not a proper story just two idiot boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-12-28 23:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Connor and Gavin both sustained injuries that left them unable to dance again. Tina sets up a meeting between the two, and a relationship quickly forms.





	1. Chapter 1

He gives himself thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds to not be bitter and angry. Thirty seconds to pretend he works here again. That he can be the person opposite of Chloe. Dancing along with her, holding her waist and spinning her around more and more. Pausing so his technique can either be praised or criticized. Listen to how even the instructor knows all eyes are on Chloe.

It isn’t just that she’s a girl. It isn’t just that the female dancers have and will always be the center of attention. It’s that Chloe is a good dancer. One of the best. Gavin remembers that from when he was here two years ago, and he never needed the refresher. He danced opposite of her in the  _ Alice  _ ballet his first year here and every year since.

Except the last two.

But it’s nice seeing her in the practice rooms again, spinning and twirling and flying high in the air. She is grace personified. She is the one that he doesn’t think could live without this. It’s not just that she’s good at dancing—she is good at everything and anything involved in ballet. But he knew when they met that it was something in her bones and her DNA. Gavin has been fine without dancing every day. He has to be. He doesn’t have a choice. Lying to himself constantly is easier than giving into grieving for something he’s lost.

And even then, he thinks Chloe would be better at him than that. Gavin was always a little jealous of her. Chloe has the personality and mental fortitude to withstand that harsh remarks from the instructors. She can repeat the same steps a hundred times waiting for her partner to finally hit his mark right. She’ll get the hang of anything, no matter how difficult. She’ll try again and again. Gavin would feel the sting of tears before he would get a difficult move right.

She isn’t perfect. She doesn’t always get things on the first try. She still slips up. She still accidentally skips some steps and rests int he wrong position, but otherwise--

She is the best. The best here, anyway.

That much hasn’t changed.

“You making eyes at my girl?”

“No,” he says, turning away from Chloe and her partner. “Who’s the guy she’s with?”

“Keep your eyes off him,” Tina says, taking his hand, tugging him away from the room. They were only suppose to meet here, they weren’t suppose to intrude on the practice and she takes him away quickly before they can get yelled at. Gavin shouldn’t have even been in here to begin with. He’s not allowed anymore.

_ Anymore. _

He can’t say he doesn’t miss the days it was him out in the middle of the room getting yelled at for putting his feet together wrong.

“Is he taken?”

“Simon?” Tina smiles. “Yes. Absolutely. You don’t recognize him?”

Gavin wants to ask by who, but he can’t bring himself to properly get the words out. If he tries to make it sound like a joke, it will bring attention to how alone Gavin is now. Or it will bring attention to the fact Gavin didn’t remember Simon’s face. Not that they were ever one the same wavelengths. Simon had his own group of friends and as much as everyone wanted to pretend they weren’t like high school kids making cliques, they did.

Or maybe they didn’t, and Gavin was just the outcast.

The last time he saw Tina in person, they had been shouting at each other. Her telling him that not everything is everyone else’s fault. That sometimes things are because of Gavin and Gavin’s actions alone.

Like his solitude now and then.

Being alone is his fault.

And then the two of them didn’t speak for over a year and a half. He deserved it. He said as many harsh things to her as she did to him. The difference was she was telling the truth and he was just trying to cut her as deeply as she cut him.

She recently emailed him, apologizing, telling him she missed him, and Gavin thought about being cruel. One last act of retaliation to keep Tina out of his life. Keep Tina from hurting him again. He doesn’t want the truth more often than not. Sometimes, he’d like to prefer that people hate him for no good reason instead of the fact insults seem to come to his mouth all too willingly.

“The coffee shop isn’t far,” Tina says quietly. “I thought we could talk?”

He nods, but he’s barely listening. Thinking instead of the times when the most important thing to him was a bunch of new adults giving him the cold shoulder.

  
  


“So…”

“So?”

“How’s everything been?” Tina asks, saying it like it was the obvious meaning behind the one syllable single word she shot at him. “We haven’t talked since—”

“I know,” he says. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything?”

No. Not everything. But the question encompasses too much.

_ Everything?  _ From his mental health to his physical well-being to his financial situation?

Nothing is fine. Not really. He has a tiny apartment that he can barely afford, just because he wanted to stay close to Detroit and live vicariously through the nightlife, pretending that he could end up on that stage in December playing one of the lead roles in The Nutcracker. Chloe will be the Sugar Plum fairy, no doubt. She has been for the last five years. Tina will be Clara, always good at embodying the childish nature the character can possess. The wonder she exhibits during the waltz of the snowflakes—

She’s perfect.

Everyone was always so perfect. The restless nights and the tears and the sweat and the blood spilled during the months of preparation always amounted up to a near-perfect performance.

That is one thing Gavin can be grateful for—

He wasn’t injured during a performance in front of hundreds of people watching his every move.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Tina presses.

They never had conversations like this before, but they never broke up before, either. They were friends since birth. Tina more of a sibling to him than his brother was. They were supposed to be the mighty trio, with their matching tattoos hidden underneath their clothing, dotted along their ribs. They were supposed to stay together forever, and everything fell apart. When Gavin looks back, it’s a wonder that Tina didn’t leave him earlier. It’s a wonder she didn’t leave when Elijah left.

“No.”

“What a shame. You’re such a catch.”

She manages to say it in the most serious and most sarcastic voice manageable. Making Gavin both believe her and force out a smile at her joke. At least they still have this: Tina’s inability to stop teasing him. It makes him feel a little more normal, being picked on by his best friend. He shouldn’t have been able to survive the last two years without her jokes. Just one reminds him of how empty it felt. Like the jokes were something physical, taking up all that space.

“And you and Chloe?”

“She helped me deal with your passing,” Tina says gravelly. “Though I’m glad you’re back. I’m sorry for everything I said.”

Gavin shakes his head, “It’s fine. I deserved it.”

“Did it change anything?” she asks quietly.

“Unfortunately, you didn’t knock any sense into me. I’m still in Detroit, aren’t I?” he replies. “Didn’t chase my dreams of being a famous youtuber in L.A. yet.”

“You’ll get there,” she smiles behind her cup of coffee. “You just need a good scandal to get you some more views and AdSense money. Play a prank on your girlfriend and pretend you’re dead for three weeks. Show up at your funeral. Crash it. Film it all. Make sure it’s obviously fake to anybody over the age of fifteen but serious enough for the twelve-year-olds to believe it.”

Gavin internally cringes at the idea of it. He hates all of it, right down to the offhanded comment about a girlfriend. He hates the idea that when he was younger, they did those kinds of things. Gavin setting up the cameras and the mighty trio replicating dances from anime openings. Back when Gavin thought he could date a girl in his class and it would make people stop questioning his sexuality when he couldn’t even figure it out himself.

He does miss it sometimes. He’s still embarrassed—of course—but he misses the times when he could be goofy and have fun and dreams that felt like they were real instead of tainted by the reality of the world. Back when the hope that he could have whatever he wanted as long as he worked hard enough was believable. How hard has he worked now, and how little does he have to show for it?

He was never the best in the company. It was by luck he ever got any lead roles. Based on his personality versus skill, he assumes. It shows through in characters, despite how often they practice to hide parts of how they move in their dancing.

“Not without you, Tina,” he says quietly, finally, forgetting what any of this was ever about. Just that not even after two years would he do any of that stupid shit without her.

“Correct answer,” she says. “Listen. About… your accident.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone I met…”

_ Shit. _

“I think you should talk to him.”

_ Fuck. _

“I don’t need to talk to anyone, Tina,” he says. “I’m—”

“Please?” she asks.

“Is this why you messaged me? To convince me to go to therapy?”

She shakes her head, but the silence that overcomes them betrays her. Maybe it isn’t the only reason, but it is a primary one. She wouldn’t have made room in her day for coffee with him.

“It’s not therapy,” Tina says quietly. “It’s just… a person to talk to. That understands.”

“Really?” he asks. “How much could they understand?”

“Not everything, but enough. Please? He’s cute. At least go for that.”

He shakes his head, looking away from her to the rest of the cafe. Small and peaceful. Quiet. The sound of turning pages, clicking keyboards, porcelain cups and plates moving around filling the air. Not many people are talking. It makes their conversation feel less private. 

“What’s his name?”

“Connor.”

_ Connor. _

  
  


Gavin is cuter than Tina told him. Connor will have to tease her about it later, even if he should have recognized him instantly. Gavin Reed isn’t exactly a name he could pull off the top of his head—he isn’t knowledgable enough to have everyone in the company’s name memorized—but he does know the face when they get a little closer. He used to watch the  _ Alice  _ ballet on a loop when he got his hands on the DVD. Replaying the tea party scene again and again, loving every moment of it. But he usually focused on the Mad Hatter’s movements, not his face.

It’s strange to think of how he’s friends with everyone in that scene now. Tina, Chloe, Chris—

Except Gavin.

Mad Hatter Gavin, feet stomping against the surface of the table. The perfect blend of ballet and tap dance. Becoming part of the music, not just an actor on stage. Every time the scene ends and he disappears, Connor becomes hyper-aware of how quiet the other dancers are. How much the Mad Hatter contrasted them and filled up the void.

And it was never just the way the tapdancing became a part of the music, but how it fit the character, too. How it was nosie that felt like it was tied to the Mad Hatter’s being. That if the book truly came alive into a ballet, that’s how it would sound.

“You Stern?”

Connor smiles, shaking himself out of his thoughts, a small laugh forming in his chest. He feels like he’s meeting a celebrity. A lot like when Connor met Markus and he had melted into a puddle on the spot, incapable of forming words together properly. Shutting down and wishing he was more like Niles. Stoic and cold and just wanting to know where the nearest and emptiest practice room was so he could get back to work.

Maybe it’s good that everything happened like this. Connor likes to dance, but he isn’t as good at it and he was never fond of the long hours. There was a short time when he thought he couldn’t be happy again, but he proved himself wrong, and even this moment is one to prove it. Not the happiest moment in his life, but something small that brings him joy and proves that it still exists outside of a practice room or a stage.

“Call me Connor, please,” he says. “You’re Gavin?”

“Call me Mr. Reed,” he replies, sitting down next to him. It takes Connor a moment to decipher whether or not he’s joking, and even then, he’s left unsure.

“Tina told me about your injury,” Connor says, but it feels like a half-lie. Tina didn’t tell him everything. Too personal, he thinks. He’s grateful. It means that Tina wouldn’t tell Gavin everything that happened to him.

“Just jumping right into the deep motivational speech, then?”

“Do you want me to pretend I don’t know?” he asks. “I can do that.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, looking away from him, “I didn’t agree to come to a therapy session, okay?”

“You just wanted free coffee?”

There’s a small smile on Gavin’s lips for half a second before it’s gone again with a shake of his head, “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“I don’t either.”

“I doubt that.”

“Really?” Connor asks. “Why?”

“You seem nice.”

“Is that all it takes to have friends?”

Gavin laughs, “No. I just mean… Tina is pretty selective with the people she lets in. She must like you.”

“Not enough to warn me from coming here,” he says, setting his cup down. “She did set me up with you.”

“You make it sound like a date.”

“I was hoping it was.”

Gavin’s eyes snap away from the background of the coffee shop to his face, eyes wide in a way that makes him look like a terrified child. So surprised at the thought of it being a romantic encounter. It makes Connor start to stumble, stutter over his words. The effort to get the words out of  _ sorry sorry sorry I thought— _

“I can’t date.”

“Why?”

“You’re a fucking ballerina.”

Connor tilts his head to the side, trying to keep himself from laughing and smiling and letting the embarrassment show for the massive humiliation that it feels. “I’m not a  _ ballerina.” _

“Whatever. I don’t care about the fucking proper terms. You’re a dancer. I can’t date you.”

“I never said we should date,” Connor says, trying to recover. Piecing together words as best and as poorly as possible. “I said I thought this might be a date. Not that I would date you.”

“You specified that you were hoping it was,” he replies. “Sides, what’s so wrong with me?”

“You were a fucking ballerina,” Connor deadpans.

“Shut up,” Gavin says, but he says it with a little laugh, shaking his head, looking away. “You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Ballet takes so much of your life. I’m not going to…” he trails off, but Connor can guess the words he’s going to say.

Gavin isn’t going to be second place when it comes to ballet. And maybe it wouldn’t be a valid complaint if it wasn’t  _ ballet _ . It’s demanding. Early mornings and late nights. Only getting a few hours of rest. Spending every bit of free time running over moves, studying choreography, going to physical therapy for the more minor injuries. Even the lunch breaks he would get before would be spent racing towards the costume department for alterations.

It’s busy. It leaves very little room for love.

They just met, but Connor knows what Gavin is saying. That it doesn’t matter who they are and if they would work. If they tried, it would fail. There would be little point in trying just to see it fail.

It’s ended three of his relationships. This unavailability. Second place to ballet doesn’t feel like second place. It feels like fifth or tenth. It is damaging, constantly being reminded of how little their worth is. Connor remembers yelling, arguing late into the nights about how he never picked his girlfriend over the other girls in class.

It didn’t feel like she was crazy or overprotective or clingy. It was just the truth. He would always choose ballet over her. Performances always felt more important than dates, even anniversaries and holidays. But he always tried, because he always craved love. He always wanted to love someone and be loved. He wanted that life, he wanted the possibility of a future after everything.

Now he has it, and it feels good, even if he misses the nights when he would have glitter dusted across his skin and in his hair.

“Can I tell you something, Gavin?”

“What?”

He reaches into his pocket, taking a receipt scrunched up there. Fishing a pen from his bag hanging on the chair beside him. It’s filled with old papers that he carries around for comfort now rather than anything else. Notes on everything ranging from the song to the costume to the steps.

“Tina set us up—platonically, I’m sure—because we have something in common.”

“We’re both gay?”

“No,” Connor says, biting his tongue. He doesn’t bother to correct Gavin. That he hasn’t ever actually been with a guy despite spending the entire time he was at practice watching Simon and Markus with equal amounts of jealousy for both. “I messed up my knee a year ago. I don’t dance anymore. I can’t. She wanted us to bond over our shared trauma.”

“You can’t dance?” Gavin asks, vaguely surprised. As if he’s suddenly realizing how he should’ve guessed this before. Surprised, but not surprised.

Connor shakes his head, passing the piece of paper across the table. “Neither can you.”

Gavin takes the paper, picking it up and looking to him, “So this is you asking me out?”

“Yes. And you can agree because I’m not a fucking ballerina.”

Gavin smiles again, biting his lip this time. “Why?”

“You’ve got a nice smile. That’s about it.”

“You’re asking me out because of my smile?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, getting up from his seat. “And I’m giving you time to not be an asshole so I can decide whether the only redeeming quality you have is that smile.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll use it wisely.”

“Try,” Connor says, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “It might be nice to see you smile again.”

And like on cue, Gavin is. Sheepish and shy, a hand brought up to his face to hide it away as he laughs, “Fuck you.”

  
  


Sometimes Gavin tries.

He pretends that he is back to who he was two years ago. He tries to pretend that he can do this. He tries to pretend that somehow his body will heal completely and he can dance again.

Gavin’s apartment is small, but he has always been good at keeping one spot cleared off. His living room is bare of all furniture. He never needed it before. He’s always kept the space empty so he could practice at home, and when he moved, he didn’t bother to fill the new empty space.

He tries the simplest of moves. Succeeds in sliding between each of the basic positions, gaining his confidence. He tries a plie before getting ready to saute and then one jump into the air and—

And Gavin is in pain. Crumbling to the floor and holding onto his leg and tears springing to his eyes. It hurts and he tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt, that he can power through it. That Gavin can fix himself. That he can ignore the pain enough to go back to doing the only thing he’s ever wanted to do and the only thing he’s ever been good at.

But it takes him ten minutes before he can push himself up off the floor, and the pain still lingers. Not in his leg but in his chest, right beside his heart. Infecting it like poison.

It’s so fucking stupid.

He can run—he runs all the time. Every morning through the park. Around the loop ten times before he comes back, just as the sun starts to rise. But he can’t do this. He can’t do simple steps. Like his body knows he shouldn’t be allowed to do it anymore. Once a jump is related to ballet, he can’t manage it.

He misses it.

Gavin misses dancing. He misses feeling like he could be something. He misses the steps and the way they could fill the empty space in his head. Classical music like background noise twenty-four seven. No time left to think. He is so tired of thinking.

Gavin is tired of thinking about how he lost his only friend and he is tired of thinking of how he’s failed at the one thing he was supposed to be good at. He is tired of being reminded of his brother leaving him behind and he is tired of thinking about how he will never have a future in this.

Gavin feels broken, and his body proves it again and again every time he tries to persevere.

  
  


“So what do you do?” Connor asks. “Now that you don’t dance?”

“I work at a movie theater,” he replies. “I get a free ticket once a week.”

“Sounds like a good job.”

Gavin shrugs, not meeting his gaze. He is hard to read. Sometimes too angry and cagey to get past, sometimes like he is genuinely happy and having fun. Switching back and forth so fast Connor can’t tell if they are masks or if they’re real yet.

It’s only their second date.

First, if he doesn’t count their meeting before. Tina had told him it was a date. Or, more accurately, she had said that Gavin was single. That he was a dancer once, too. That they both suffered injuries that left them unable to dance again, even with physical therapy and surgery.

And Connor has tried. But most days his leg hurts in a dull way that makes it hard to keep his back straight, like the pain resides in his spine instead of his hips and legs.

“I don’t like most movies that we get,” he says. “Not to sound like hipster trash, it’s just most of the time I don’t care for action movies or the big popular blockbusters.”

“Really? You seem like a big action fan,” Connor says. “Next you’re going to say you hate horror.”

“I don’t hate horror, but it’s not my favorite. Why are you making assumptions?”

“Well, you avoid my questions,” he replies with a small smile. “And I do kind of like you. So I thought our next date could be to the movies.”

“Please don’t,” Gavin says quietly. “The smell of popcorn makes me sick.”

There is some part of Connor that impulsively wants to tease him, but it feels too soon now. Like he’s hit his limit of things he can tease Gavin about for now, and the joke is dropped fast, “What about a museum?”

“Who says I’m agreeing to this next date anyway? You haven’t even kissed me goodnight, and that’s when I make my final decision.”

“So make a preemptive decision. You can always veto it later,” Connor says, leaning forward. “Museum?”

Gavin watches him for a long moment, scanning his features slowly before shaking his head. Either discarding the topic or rejecting the invitation, Connor doesn’t know. “You didn’t tell me what your job was.”

“I edit videos.”

“You what?”

“Youtubers,” he says quietly. “Not all of them edit their own stuff. They send it to me. It was pretty easy to figure out. It lets me work from home.”

“And you like to work from home?”

Connor nods, deciding against the admission that it can be hard to walk sometimes. He doesn’t know what Gavin’s reaction would be if he saw the cane in his apartment, if Connor ever had a day where he had a hard time getting out of bed. He is regretting his museum invitation now. He doesn’t know how his body will feel that day, if it will be up for walking around and standing. He can go weeks feeling perfectly fine and he can go weeks in pain. He tries not to think about how much he would like to have more than just these dates at coffee shops. That maybe he will have a date where Gavin wakes up in the bed beside him. Connor tries not to think about the future that still feels so uncertain, despite how much he wants it.

He wasn’t lying.

Gavin is cute. He’s nice, when he’s not trying so hard to pretend he is incapable of kindness. He’s funny and sweet. He feels open and honest. Connor doesn’t want to admit how cheesy he feels about this snap between them, like a connection ahs been formed between their souls. He prefers to think of it like magnets, pulling together. It feels less like love at first sight, then.

“Who’s videos do you edit? Anyone famous?”

“I signed an NDA,” Connor says. “I can’t tell you or I would owe them a million dollars.”

“I can’t fucking tell if you’re joking.”

Connor smiles, leaving the conversation at that. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it makes Gavin smile, too.

And he really does like that smile.

  
  


“You going to walk me up?” Gavin asks. “I’m supposed to reach my door and say ‘ _ this is me’  _ and you’re supposed to be an awkward freak about ending the night.”

Connor taps his fingers on the steering wheel, watching Gavin fiddle with the zipper of his jacket. Broken, Connor thinks.

“Only if you let me kiss you and I get a real answer to my question.”

“About the museum?”

Connor nods, “Art or history. Your pick.”

Gavin chews on his bottom lip before nodding, “Okay.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” he says. “Next week art, history the week after.”

“Is this a real answer or a preemptive one?” Connor asks.

“Come upstairs and kiss me and find out.”

_ Oh. _

Connor thinks he hates him, just a little bit. With the way he messes with his jacket and the way he smiles and the way he is just so—

Endearingly frustrating.

“Okay.”

  
  


“This is me,” Gavin says with a laugh, leaning back against the door. The giddiness of the date and the stupidity of his joke making him feel light and happy. He has his keys in his hand, holding onto them, looping a finger around one of the five keychains he’s gotten over the years from Tina for Christmas or birthdays.

“I suppose I can’t come in?” Connor asks.

“Date number eight,” he says, solely because it rhymes and he thinks it’ll be funny. Gavin has rarely followed through on the rule, no matter how many times he says it.

And he doesn’t think they’ll get to number eight, anyway. Connor asked for more time to see him as something other than an asshole, and he doesn’t think that will happen.

But Connor is cute. Tina was right about that.

And he’s funny. Genuine. And Connor has this way about him that reminds Gavin of Tina. The way he teases and jokes and doesn’t treat him like a criminal or a broken human.

He is frustratingly endearing.

“Can I kiss you now, or should I make more small talk?”

“If you must,” Gavin says, mockingly sarcastic, but he is smiling, and he can feel it disappear when Connor steps forward to kiss him.

His lips are soft. His hands are soft. There is something strange about the kiss that reminds him of how long it’s been since someone has touched him this way. Hands on his waist, not because of choreography but because they want to be there, pulling him close. Gavin is used to being the shortest one. The only other girl in the company that matched his height was North, and they were never partners. He is used to having to look up, even for stage kisses.

But this is different.

This is real.

And Connor is soft and comforting and he smells like strawberry and vanilla. Sickly sweet in a comforting way. The kind of scent that feels comforting and home-y. Like what he imagines a grandmother’s houses would smell like in books when they would wear old fashioned dresses and bake every day, leaving apple pies in window sills for troublesome kids to come and steal.

Gavin’s thoughts are wandering, but he can’t allow himself to think too much about how nice it feels to be kissed, to be touched. He will have to immediately break his fake rule of date number eight, and he already knows he has made himself look like an idiot a hundred times tonight. Connor probably already thinks of him as stupid, he doesn’t need to think of Gavin as needy and lonely, too.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss despite not wanting to. Connor’s hand is still on his waist. Light and simple and delicate, just like they’re taught.

“Tuesday,” Connor whispers. “The art museum.”

“Right.”

They stay there for a moment longer. Gavin not wanting Connor to go, but too embarrassed to cling so desperately to him. His hands slide off the fabric of Connor’s jacket as he leans further away. Tiny movements to signal the end of their night.

“I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them move. Connor is smiling and Gavin is trying his best not to return it and he’s trying his best not to move too fast but his hand reaches back out to grasp the fabric of Connor’s shirt again and tugs him forward against his body again. He wants to skip ahead. He wants to feel wanted. He wants to know what Connor’s body feels like against his without clothing in-between. If the lack of fabric would make it clear how perfectly their bodies might fit together.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Connor whispers.

“Edit youtube videos all day?”

Connor nods, “I have deadlines.”

Gavin laughs, and it’s half real and half sarcastic, “Okay.”

“Tuesday,” he repeats. “Don’t be late.”

_ Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. _

  
  


Tuesday—

The days tick by slowly. Five in-between now and the last date slipping by simultaneously too fast and slow. The work he does it boring. He doesn’t particularly like anybody of the people that he works for, and of the five, only one of them films videos far enough in advance that he doesn’t have to stay up until three in the morning to get it done.

He comes back to the ballet company when he wants a break. They aren’t particularly secretive about their practice sessions, but they don’t let strangers in either. Friends and family are allowed in and as long as they don’t disrupt the dancers, they can sit off to the side.

Connor has his laptop open on his lap, but he hasn’t paid attention to a single frame of the footage he was emailed this morning. Instead, he is watching Simon and Chloe practice the pas de deux for the Nutcracker. He watches Simon’s movements, as minimal and small as they may seem. The men don’t necessarily do all the twirls and spins that women do—they take the front of the dance. There is nothing about the pas de deux that makes Simon the center of attention. He is there to lift, to spin, to help. The dance couldn’t exist without him, but he is a foreground character in this moment.

And Connor knows what Chloe will look like on the stage, too. The pair will have matching glitter on their skin, hair pulled back, soft beige and pastel on their costumes. They will look like twins, spinning around out there, but Chloe will steal the stage no matter what.

She has always been the best. Connor knew that before he came here. He studied all of the videos that the company uploaded online. It wasn’t just the  _ Alice  _ ballet, but everything in-between.

It’s still weird to see them in real life. And watching Niles some days feels like he is watching his life from another point in the world, too. A stranger looking in, trapped in a mirror.

And Connor will be cruel in this moment—

He doesn’t think Niles will ever capture the same abundance of energy that Gavin did in the tea party scene. They argued about it countless times before Connor was injured. The only person who was surprised when Chris was chosen to be the new Mad Hatter was Niles.

None of this matters. He is using it as a distraction. Nitpicking the movements of others in order to distract from the fact he can’t even do the steps he used to think of as so simple and second-nature. He can’t lift anyone anymore. He can’t handle the weight of them. Chloe and North and Tina are so tiny and light. They make themselves look like feathers when they glide across the stage, but the first time he tried to pretend and lie about his capabilities, he dropped them.

He misses this. Not that he was ever opposite of Chloe in this part of the play. He was a background dancer, always. As much as he nitpicked little details about Niles’ dancing, he was never able to get them all right either. He could see the mistakes, but he struggled to correct them.

He never deserved to be here in the first place.

  
  


“Are you alright?”

Connor nods, leaning against one of the walls at the top of the stairs, “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

They’ve been here for an hour, wandering around and looking at the art. Gavin hasn’t been taken to a museum before. It’s nice, he thinks. It feels like he can check off a box on his list. Date at a museum with a cute boy that held his hand and let Gavin lean against his shoulder when they stopped to look at a piece. Gavin isn’t very introspective. He isn’t good at judging art or commenting on it. But he realized he likes to listen to Connor talk about it. He doesn’t understand half the words he says, but he likes the way he says them. He likes Connor’s voice, even if all he can respond with is  _ yeah the color palette is really pretty. _

“I’m fine,” Connor repeats, but his head is tipped back and his eyes are closed. “Just… my feet hurt.”

“Is that it?”

He nods, pushing away from the wall, reaching out for Gavin’s hand again. “See? I’m fine.”

“You don’t want to sit for a little while?”

“Gavin.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn one,” he says, looping an arm around Connor’s waist. Providing whatever support he can. “Not you.”

“I think we’re both allowed to be stubborn. You’re just meaner about it.”

“My smile makes up for it, right?”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Connor says. “There’s a bench over there. Do you want to—?”

“Yes,” he says, letting Connor turn this into his idea if it means he will get the rest he clearly needs. “We can pause.”

  
  


“You didn’t tell me what happened,” Connor says, tilting his head, looking at the art on the wall across from them. They’ve been here for ten minutes now but he manages to find some new detail in it every time.

It looks like waves crashing against each other, but the waves are painted in such a way it looks like a vortex. Unable to tell the sky from the water, or if it was even meant to be water and sky to begin with. Sometimes the color looks deep green, sometimes a bright and clear blue. All depending on the sun outside the window passing behind a cloud,

“What happened when?”

“Two years ago,” Connor says.

“Nothing exciting,” Gavin says.

“Nothing at all?”

“You tell me. How’d you hurt your knee?”

“Car crash,” Connor replies. “I was driving to visit my parents in February. The roads were slippery. I went off and crashed into a ditch. They didn’t find me for a long time. Niles told me I was lucky to be alive.”

“Really?”

“There was a blizzard,” Connor says quietly, wishing he could curl up and hide himself away. “It… covered the car pretty well. It took them until morning to find me. I lost a toe to frostbite, and it’s not funny so don’t laugh.”

People always laugh about the last part. And maybe Connor would, too, if it wasn’t linked to that day. If it wasn’t linked to laying in pain with glass in his face and his body slumped across a dashboard, bleeding out, barely holding on. Trying so desperately to scream for help but never managing to get his mouth to form the words.

“I won’t.”

“Will you tell me what happened to you?”

Gavin shrugs, like it’s a big secret. And injuries can be like that, especially ones like theirs. Ones that end careers and keep them from ever dancing again. Connor was in a hospital for months recovering from the damage. Sometimes he wonders even if he could dance again if they would care. He missed so much time, forced so far back—

“I had problems with muscle and tendons. Tore a ligament… didn’t let it heal properly. I didn’t want to listen to what the doctors said about physical therapy and I went back as soon as I could. Irreparable damage. And I can’t lift anymore.”

“Really?”

He nods, “I… fell off the stage and broke my arm. I can’t straighten it. It’s all fucked up. Makes it hard to lift heavy things, let alone one of the girls.”

Gavin sits back, holding his left arm out to his side like he should prove it. And he’s right. It’s different than the other arm he holds out. Bent and unable to go straight out. He can see a small grimace forming on Gavin’s face, like he’s trying desperately to prove himself wrong, even now.

“The arm thing was pretty gross,” he says with a laugh lacking any humor. “The bone went through the skin. You ever see something like that?”

“No. Thanks for the mental image.”

Gavin smiles and shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest again, suddenly too aware of them and not knowing what to do anymore, how he used to hold them normally.

It’s strange, how they are taught to be aware of every part of their body. Always stretching when they stand or sit. Always know where their feet are, what their hands are doing. Even the tiniest details in their faces. He has seen girls be yelled at for their smiles not being big enough or being too fake. The audience wants to see them smile, but they need it to look realistic. As if anyone could ever keep a realistic smile on their face while spinning around the stage a hundred times.

“I can’t lift anybody either,” Connor says, whispering it like a secret. “When I came back, I tried and I dropped Tina.”

“Right,” Gavin says. “She told me. You bruised her leg.”

“She’s lucky that’s all it was,” he replies. “Otherwise she could be here with us. Our little squad of broken ballerinas.”

“I’m glad she’s not,” he replies.

And Connor wonders how he means it.

Glad that Tina isn’t hurt for forever, or glad that she isn’t here to be the third wheel of their date?

Maybe both.

Connor is glad for both. He is glad for how he feels in this moment. Like there should be the soft sound of classical music playing somewhere. Clair De Lune, off echoing in the back of his mind. The sound of footsteps and chatter quiet around him as Gavin moves closer to his side, taking his hand gently, like he’s scared. Connor is scared too. Scared of the way their hands fit together, the way Gavin’s head feels when it rests against his shoulder. This moment, feeling too perfect to let go. Reminding him of how much farther he has to fall.


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe comes over to his place sometimes on the weekends, when the company’s practicing hours are cut in half to allow the dancers to have a life outside of ballet, not that most of them have one. Chloe always comes to Connor’s place because he has a big enough space in his living room for her to practice. Her own place is tiny and cramped--big plush furniture and heavy wooden shelves lined with all the awards she earned participating in any kind of sport she could manage back in high school.

She sits on the floor in front of him, letting Connor gather her hair into a bun. She tells him she’s always preferred the way he does it, but he’s never seen a difference between the way either of them do it. But he doesn’t mind. It’s nice to feel useful, at least, for something other than his home.

Today she stays quiet, her words clipped and responses short. After weeks of practicing and their schedules never lining up properly, usually Chloe is overflowing with words. Funny stories from practice or things that happened on her date with Tina. But nothing.

“Are you mad at me?” Connor asks.

“Tina told me about you and Gavin ,” Chloe says, turning around, the lock of her hair that Connor was trying to pin comes unfurled, laying in a loose curl against her shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not that big of a deal.”

“’Not that big of a deal’? Connor, you haven’t dated anyone for as long as I’ve known you. Or do you mean you don’t like him? Are you already planning on breaking up with him? Tina would hate me if I didn’t warn her.”

Connor rests his hands on the side of her head, turning her face away so he can fix the fallen lock, “I’m not breaking up with him. I like him. A lot. I’m going to see him tonight. It’s just… difficult. I haven’t told him everything. It’s complicated. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it was going to last after he found out.”

“You’re worried he’s going to dump you because you have problem walking.”

Not a question. She already knows that’s exactly what his problem is. It’s always his problem. Gavin didn’t say anything outright at the museum, but it still worries him. He doesn’t want to be babied. He can take care of himself. It just has a lot of other problems behind it besides just that, problems he doesn’t know how to bring up without sounding like he’s jumping the gun on their relationship, or saying something can never happen, or taking the lead when he doesn’t want to take the lead and be bossy. It’s not even that he wants to take things slow, he has to. He doesn’t know how to say  _ if we have sex, don’t push my legs apart too far  _ and  _ don’t lay on that side of my body, it can’t handle the weight  _ or just  _ don’t make jokes about it being hard to walk the next morning. _

“I like him,” he repeats.

Chloe nods, her hand touching her bun where Connor has secured the last peice of hair. “I haven’t seen you happy in a while. He seems good for you.”

He watches her get up, moving to the center of the room, surveying the space in her head. Taking in how much room she will have to move around—cut in half of their practice rooms, cut even smaller of their stage. He watches her and wonders how he did such a bad job at hiding his sadness. He thought he was being careful, putting on positive attitudes, smiling, laughing, making jokes. She saw through all of it like it was nothing.

  
  


He waits in the diner anxiously. Something in his stomach turning over as he taps his fingers against the wood of the seat underneath him. Drumming along, waiting for Gavin to show up. Today is a weird day. Another date in their string of ones that have followed along through the last month. It’s the date that he knows people sometimes expect sex to follow with. He doesn’t think he will. He wants to, he thinks. He likes Gavin. He  _ really  _ likes Gavin. But there are other things to say first.

“What are you blushing about?”

Connor glances up, standing to meet Gavin beside the table. He can feel the pressure on his leg. It’s been hurting all day—the last three days. It’s getting worse. He won’t be able to go another day without his cane to help support him. “I was thinking about you.”

“Oh? So brazenly admitting such a thing in public? What was I doing in this daydream?”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” Connor says, giving him a chaste kiss. “It was hardly a daydream. I was more so embarassed  _ for  _ you.”

“How so?”

Connor touches the sleeve of his shirt, running his hand along the seam, “You put your shirt on inside-out.”

“Oh—Fuck, really?”

Connor smiles, pressing a hand over his mouth. The way Gavin looks down at his shirt, worried and embrassed and tugging on the fabric as though it will somehow fix the problem, is funnier than the idea that Gavin put his shirt on inside-out to begin with.

“Do you want me to go fix it?” Gavin asks. “Or are you okay with having dinner with an imbecile?”

“I think I’ll be having dinner with an imbecile either way,” Connor says, sitting down. “Please, stay. You’re already late.”

“Don’t want to waste another minute without me, huh?”

“No,” Connor says. “I don’t.”

  
  


They take Connor’s car to Gavin’s apartment when they leave, though it isn’t far. Gavin walked to the diner to meet him and spent the entire time stealing bites of food off Connor’s plate, which he doesn’t mind. There was some amusement in seeing how sneaky Gavin thought he was being. The two of them linger by the doorway to Gavin’s place, and Connor forgoes the chatty back and forth of  _ so this is me  _ like they had last time and instead pressing Gavin against the door to kiss him. His arms loop around Connor’s neck, pulling him down, leaning away from the wall and against Connor’s body. And he thinks they’re going to eventually have to say something, because they can’t stay here forever. But he likes kissing Gavin. For a moment, it lets him forget. Not his injury—his leg hurts, and it hurts worse when Gavin leans against him like this, his weight pressed against Connor’s chest, but he doesn’t say anything though. He doesn’t know how to. And saying something would imply Gavin can’t ever hold onto him like this, when today is just a bad day. Just standing is making it hurt. 

But kissing Gavin does let him forget who he was before. Everything that he was supposed to be. Everything that he is now. He’s allowed to just be a boyfriend. Or, maybe not a boyfriend. They haven’t really discussed that. They should. Connor pulls away, as if to say something about this, but Gavin chases him back down and he feels the thing in his stomach light up with the need to stay here forever.

The elevator down the hall dings, doors sliding open as they pull apart. Gavin’s hands move to the door knob, like he’s pretending to unlock it even though he doesn’t have his keys. Connor moves aside for him, a hand on the back of his neck, trying to shield the embarassment of being caught as the people walk by behind them. The other couple get into their apartment before Gavin can even find the keys in whichever pocket he’s left them in.

“Guess you should probably go,” Gavin says quietly, sliding the key into the lock.

“It’s only seven.”

“So you want to come in?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“I mean. If it’s what you want.”

“But is what  _ you  _ want?”

Gavin laughs, “Yeah.”

  
  


Gavin’s place is nice, albeit a little disorderly. Connor looks around, taking in all the pieces of furniture, all the bits and bobs on his shelves. The dishes stacked up beside the sink, the newspaper articles about the ballet framed and hanging on the dinning room walls, but they don’t have pictures of Gavin in them. There’s one with Tina, on an article about how important background dancers are, especially in big performances.

“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to… watch something?”

“Sure. Do you have something boring?”

“I—I’m sure I do. Why?”Connor smiles softly, moving over toward him, his hand reaching up to tilt Gavin’s chin up, “Because I don’t really want to watch anything, Gavin.”

“O-Oh. Okay.”

  
  


Connor is a fucking liar.

He’s paying too much attention to the movie, even though Gavin is doing his best to get his attention. There must be at least three marks on his neck now. He’s doing his best damn work and Connor’s eyes are on the screen, paying attention to possibly the most boring details about the movie possible.

The love story is predictable, though maybe that’s from Gavin watching the film too many times himself when it first played at the theater. Two people on the run from their past, working on a farm together before running away off into the woods with a band of criminals. Robbing banks and stealing things and almost dying every other minute before finally realizing they can’t live without each other.

It’s boring. To him, anyway. To Connor, it’s entirely too captivating.

“Gavin?”

“You want to watch the movie, don’t you? Your choosing the movie over me?”

“Just this once.”

“Just this once,” Gavin echoes. “Yeah. I’m sure. You know there’s three in the series?”

“Three? Why?”

“Their love story is very complicated and twisted. And people really like watching the two actors kiss.”

Connor smiles, “Well, can you blame them?”

“Yeah. I can. One of them looks like a caveman.”

Connor glances over to the screen, back to Gavin, “He reminds me of you.”

“He—What? Are you teasing me?”

“No. I’m being serious. He looks like you. He acts like you.”

“He looks like a beaver.”

“A  _ beaver?  _ You’re just making things up, now.”

“Maybe. Is he at least your favorite?”

“Yes,” Connor says quietly, pressing a kiss against his lips. “He’s definitely my favorite.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll let you watch the movie. But don’t be surprised if I fall asleep,” Gavin steals one last kiss. “And the third one came out last week. You could come by the theater tomorrow. We could see it together.”

“I thought you said no movie dates.”

“I’ll allow it. Just once. For you.”

  
  


Gavin does fall asleep. Resting against Connor’s chest, curled up in that space. He snores softly as the movie plays, as the romance builds into something they can’t deny anymore. Connor doesn’t like historical things very much—there is something he finds boring in it. But he thinks maybe he only found it boring because he could never see himself in those movies, or they were always focused on war. But here he can see himself. Not literally—but in the most abstract sense. Two people fighting for each other when they don’t even realize why they’re doing it. Would they do it, if there wasn’t a love building between them?

He hopes.

He hopes there is at least that layer of kindness in the world, in the film-makers minds. That people don’t stand up for someone just because they want to get in bed with them, but rather because it’s the right thing to do. Maybe it doesn’t matter what they intended. He can infer his own meaning. And maybe it’s stupid to think about, but he doesn’t know what else to focus his thoughts on. If he thinks too much about how Gavin is laying on him right now, or the sound of his snores, or the fact that he feels at peace and at home here, he will combust.

Gavin does make him happy. Happy in a way that feels almost too tight, that fills him too full. An overflowing kind of thing that leaves him smiling and dazed when they’re apart, when he’s supposed to be editing a video but can’t stop thinking about the stupid things Gavin does.

  
  


“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“You fell asleep. Do you need me to drive you home?”

“No.”

“You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says quietly, reaching blindly for the body in front of him. “Where are you going?”

“My bed. You can come if you want. If that’s okay. You don’t have to. It won’t mean anything.”

“’M fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll get you a blanket, okay? And a pillow.”

“Gav,” Connor says quietly, grabbing him before he can go. “I need you to get me something from the car.”

“Sure, what?”

“My…” he trails off.

He is not embarassed about his cane. He does not feel less than when people see him use it. He doesn’t care what they think. The only reason he dislikes it is that he uses it when he’s in pain. But he knows he’ll need it tomorrow. He should’ve used it today, but he had this small pressing fear in the back of his head of what Gavin would think if he saw him with it. He always fears the worst. But if he has to get up tomorrow and Gavin isn’t awake to help him, which he knows he’ll need, he won’t be able to stand. He can feel it even now. Getting up will likely mean falling right back down again.

“Con?”

“I have a cane. In the trunk. My keys are in my jacket.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Gavin presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  
  


The cane is silver and black. Or maybe not pure black, but a deep brown—there is wooden detailing that Gavin can make out from the light of the elevator. It’s cold from the weather outside. His hands run along the engraving in it. Simple, light, barely noticable. Connor’s intials, he thinks. An imprint from the company he got it from. It’s special made for him, beyond the sense of just being the right length, width, etc.

God. Gavin feels like an idiot. He doesn’t know anything about it. When he injured himself, he had crutches, but he never needed a cane, and even if had, he would’ve ignored it. He would’ve laid in bed from resentment. He hates that he knows this about himself. That his anger would just jump from one part of him to the next.

The elevator stops, he fishes out his keys as he reaches his apartment door, letting himself in. He knows Connor is asleep before he even gets the door closed. He was hoping he would be awake, that Gavin could convince him to come to the bed with him. He never felt so comfortable than laying against Connor’s chest last night. He hopes it wasn’t his fault. He should ask him tomorrow. Try to understand beyond what he has been told through media that never took the effort to hear the voices of those that matter in these kinds of conversations.

He rests the cane against the end table by where Connor sleeps. He pauses for a minute, wondering whether or not it would be wrong to wake him to kiss him again. He doesn’t know why he’s so overwhelmed with the need to. Sometimes it just feels like he can’t convey how much he cares properly, but he doubts this is the way. He tucks the blanket around Connor’s body better before leaving for his room, curling up in his blankets, his arm stretched over the empty space beside him.

  
  


“Hey. Good morning.”

“You bust into my coffee stash?” Gavin asks, moving to the counter to pour himself a cup. “You spend one night and think the place is yours.”

“Gavin.”

“What?”

“Thank you,” he says. “For bringing me my cane.”

“You asked me to.”

Connor shakes his head, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, you mean I wasn’t a jerk to you or something about it?” Gavin asks, sitting down across from him. “Can I ask you about that?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“If I say something fucked up, are you going to call me out for it?”

“Are you planning on saying something fucked up?”

“No,” he laughs. “No, I just mean… if I act wrong. Can you tell me?”

“I’ll be the first to let you know,” Connor replies.

“I’ve never been with someone that needed one before. I don’t like… know if I’m doing anything wrong,” Gavin says. “I don’t understand it.”

“I can send you some things to read about it.”

“Could you?” Gavin says. “I don’t even know where to start. I mean, I tried. Last night I stayed up for three hours trying to… I don’t know. Figure it out. But I don’t know anything.”

“Shocker.”

“I’m being serious. I want to be good at this.”

“Well,” Connor lets out a sigh. “I can tell that I don’t always need it. Most of the time I don’t. But I don’t like taking meds for the pain. I don’t need you to take care of me. I can handle it myself. And if you want to know anything, you can just ask me.”

“Even if I say it in kind of a mean way?”

Connor shakes his head, “You’re an idiot. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Bully.”

Connor smiles, “It’s really not that big of a deal, Gavin. Most days I’m okay without it.”

“And last night, did I… do anything, to worsen it?”

Connor is quiet for a moment before he shakes his head, “Just don’t lay on my right leg.”

“Okay,” Gavin smiles softly. “So if we ever share a bed…?”

“You’ll just have to lay on the left side of me.”

“So it’ll happen?”

“I hope so. If you don’t hold me stealing your coffee against you.”

“I think I can manage to let that grudge go.”

  
  


Connor leaves and Gavin’s day starts a little past ten, after he’s kissed Connor goodbye and wished he could stay a little longer, but he has his own things to worry about. Gavin can’t keep him here forever. He’s just upset to see him go. He tugs him back at one point, standing up on tiptoes, careful not to lean against him too much. Connor told him it was okay—as long as his entire weight wasn’t resting against him, but Gavin is still worried. He doesn’t want to hurt him. And then he’s leaving, not looking back until he reaches the elevator and waving as the doors close, that stupid smile on his face that makes Gavin have to stop himself from racing to the doors to meet him.

It’s stupid. How annoyed he was with Tina for setting the two up. Now he can’t wait until tomorrow night when Connor will come by the movie theater and watch something with him. The newest installment in his historical movie love affair. God. It doesn’t even matter to Gavin how boring he finds the movies, he just wants to sit next to him. To be there while Connor enjoys something so fully. What’s he going to do when he finds out they’re already filming the fourth one? He’s going to lose his fucking mind.

But until then he’s alone.

He’s alone in his apartment, cluttered with reminders of his past.

So he sets to work.

If Connor is going to come over again, Gavin doesn’t want him to find the hoodies that have been stained with coffee, or the sheets that have been ripped in the dryer and never fixed. He should count himself lucky that Connor never came into his room to see the mess in here, as much as Gavin wished he had. He’s aware he lives in a garbage heap—too busy at work and too busy with his own personal drama to clean—but that doesn’t take away from the fact he’d still be embarassed for Connor to ever see the extent of it. There are only so many excuses.

He donates what he can, tosses the rest, makes a stack of things he could fix if he goes over to Tina’s and borrows her sewing machine. Most of his shoes end up in the trash, too worn down that they’re falling apart but he’s kept because it’s easier to kick them off in a heap at the bottom of his closet than to throw them out. The place will likely be a mess again by the time Connor comes back, but at least it’ll be the slightest bit better.

Gavin pauses when he reaches up to the shelf in his closet, pulling down a wicker basket. He knows what’s inside. All his broken in ballet shoes. Some new ones he never got to wear. He should get rid of them. There’s no need to have them here. They’re taking up space. They’re useless. But he knows there’s a pair toward the bottom that were his first ever, carefully saved from the trash and wrapped up neatly in newspaper so they wouldn’t be left behind. All that pain and suffering. All the basics he learned in them. All of them represent something. Some kind of first. A new dance, a new song. Getting something right for the first time.

He puts the basket back, tucking it toward the corner where the wall helps cover it up. Out of sight, but not forgotten. He might never dance again, but that doesn’t mean he wants to forget that he ever danced to begin with.

  
  


Connor probably shouldn’t be walking so much today. He’s usually fairly good at limiting his pain on the days he relies on the cane. It helps prevent him from having to use it multiple days in a row. The days he has to use the cane, the pain is never the kind of healing pain that feels like it’s building strength to his muscles. It’s the kind of pain that tells him he needs to rest. It’s the kind of pain that builds up before his body forces him to rest.

The day is just busier than he thought. He keeps forgetting things in the midst of his work. His laptop charger in the bedroom, the notepad full of lists to help him track the schedules that he’s given, his waterbottle in the fridge, something to eat to help give him something good to distract himself with when he gets to the parts of vlogs or videos that could have easily been cut out completely, but test his patience in how to make the footage actually worth the time put into filming it. And he had to go grocery shopping this morning. He didn’t have a choice. Everything in his cupboards is expired or near empty.

And now he’s standing at the door of the movie theater, knowing he parked a little too far, that the place is bigger than he thought, and even with the promise of two and a half hours of sitting without having to get up, he’s going to still be in pain. He knows what kind of day he’s going to have tomorrow. He isn’t looking forward to it.

“Hey, you made it.”

“You think I’m going to stand you up?” Connor asks, leaning down to kiss Gavin. “Did you get the tickets yet?”

“Yeah. Do you want to go save us some seats while I get popcorn?”

“I thought it made you sick.”

“You can’t go to a movie without popcorn. It gives you something to do during the boring parts, regardless of how sick it makes me,” Gavin’s hand finds his free one, holding onto it tightly. “Listen, if it was anyone other than you, I’d break up with you for this. But I really like you. And I know you really like these dumb movies. You just timed it pretty awful.”

Connor thinks of how heavily he is trying to support himself right now, and he nods. In more ways than one. The only thing saving him right now is that this isn’t how Gavin is going to find out about his cane. At least he managed to cover up some of it with how desperate and tired he was before.

“Do you really hate these movies that much?” Connor asks instead. “You owned both of them.”

“Tina got them for me. I kept forgetting to return them.”

“You know you don’t have to see it with me, right? This doesn’t have to be a date.”

“And miss out on spending time with you, even if you’re choosing a movie over me again? No way,” Gavin kisses him again. “Go save us our seats, okay? I’ll see you in there.”

  
  


Gavin sits down beside Connor, handing him the bucket of popcorn, leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t hate the movies, in general, or this series specifically. He gets the appeal. But it’s like a worst fear to him. The two are always together and in love, but there’s always something pulling them apart. And it’s a terrifying thought that Gavin will never get the solidity of a proper relationship. That something will always come along to pull it out from under him.

But he wasn’t lying. Going to the movies with Connor wasn’t about  _ going to the movies _ . It was about Connor. He just wanted to spend a few hours with him, and a movie is nice. There’s no pressure to talk. There’s no reason for him to come up with something funny to say. He can just sit beside him and hold his hand and marvel at how they fit together. And he wishes the movie wouldn’t end so soon. He likes this. Not hiding themselves. Being able to kiss Connor in public. Being to hold his hand.

He feels insanely lucky that he doesn’t have to hide this.

Connor is someone that Gavin could love like they do in the movies. Connor is someone that Gavin  _ wants  _ to love. He’s someone that Gavin knows he will love, and soon. He can already feel himself falling, and he doesn’t plan on doing anything to stop it. He just hopes the safety net of Connor loving him back doesn’t disappear on the way down.

  
  


Gavin sits in the car with him while everyone else leaves the theater parking lot. He’s holding onto Connor’s hand again, as if it would be impossible to let him go. Neither of them can spend too much time together tonight. Gavin has work. Connor has to finish editing videos that are being uploaded tomorrow. But they stay here for a little longer, Gavin letting Connor ramble about the different reasons he likes the movie, letting Gavin tease him, because he knows the teasing isn’t in a cruel way. He isn’t being forced to defend himself. He’s just talking. He’s having fun.

“I like love stories,” Connor says. “They feel like hope.”

“But every movie they’re struggling to be together.”

“But not because they don’t love each other, just because of the world. And every time they end it happy and together. That’s the only part that matters.”

“You’re such a…” Gavin trails off. “Hopeless romantic.”

“Better than a beaver.”

“Shut up,” Gavin laughs. “You know there’s a book series too, right? Ten novels. Telling the tale of their struggle with the law.”

“I’ll have to read them, then.”

“They’re probably better than the movies. The movies are all about longing looks and holding hands.”

Connor squeezes Gavin’s hand in his, watching him look out the window toward the bright neon lights of the theater, “And you don’t like that?”

“I prefer the robbing banks parts.”

“I thought you said you don’t like action.”

“Hm,” Gavin shrugs. “I don’t like certain kinds of action. I like bank robberies.”

Connor shakes his head, leaning over to him, pressing a kiss against his cheek, “Next time we go to the movies, it’ll be a heist one.”

“Good,” Gavin looks back to him. “There’s one coming out in two months. Do you want to go to it?”

“I’d love to.”

There isn’t a second thought to agreeing to it. No question of  _ will we still be together in two months?  _ Because he thinks they will. He doesn’t feel like they could end so quickly. Not when Connor feels like this. Not when Gavin smiles like that. Not when they struggle despite their real lives and the threat of having to part ways, making every excuse not to. There is no doubt in his mind in two months they’ll be in the same place, laughing about heist movies together.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://norchloe.tumblr.com/) /// videos i based some of the dances off of: [sugar plum pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qy6dlGpC3Ns) and [mad hatter's tea party](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kq8zqhqjUIo)
> 
> i'm sorry for any mess up with terms or definitions!! i haven't done a tremendous amount of research into ballet.


End file.
